


ok

by Areiton



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: College Student Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: They don’t talk about it.Peter doesn’t ever ask about it--about why Mr. Stark protects and takes care of him.Mr. Stark never explains it.Peter thinks, maybe some things just don’t need to be explained.





	ok

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the fluffy sweet birthday fic! <3

The first time it happens--the first time he  _ notices _ \--they're in the lab, working on a new web formula. Peter is rambling, recounting a fight from patrol two nights previously. Mr. Stark is quiet, a fond little smile on his lips, eyes bright as he watches Peter, like watching Peter, listening to him, was all he wanted to do. 

And then his hand was snapping out, catching his wrist and  _ yanking _ him forward. Peter collides with Mr. Stark's chest and he feels a burst of heat and the delicate sound of glass shattering. 

Peter peeks his head up, twisting to look at the shattered glass and burning formula. 

"Uh," he says, dumbly. "That formula still needs work." 

Mr. Stark snorts and that's when Peter realizes he's still tucked against his chest, the housing unit on his chest digging into Peter's cheek, long fingers combing through his hair, protective and assessing. 

"You're ok," Mr. Stark murmurs, finally and he sighs as he releases Peter. “You’re ok.” 

Peter watches him, wide-eyed and startled and Mr. Stark ruffles his hair. "Come on, kid. You've got to be starving." 

~*~ 

He thinks about it, a lot. 

Peter’s always over-analyzed everything Mr. Stark does, with the kind of hungry eager desperation that makes him flush, when he thinks about it. But this--this is new. The way he held Peter, the tightness of his arms and the way his heart had thundered under Peter’s ear. 

The way that Mr. Stark had murmured  _ you’re ok _ like he was reassuring  _ himself.  _

He thinks about it, a lot, is all. 

~*~ 

It keeps happening. Most of the time, it’s small things--reaching out and snagging Peter upright when he trips over a flat surface, carefully putting himself on the outside of the sidewalk, glaring at anyone who got too close to him when they were out. He gave him a suit and then constantly upgraded it, freaked out anytime Peter so much as got a bruise on patrol, and when he found out about Flash--Peter doesn’t like to think about that. 

It keeps happening, and Peter never really goes out of his way to  _ need  _ it--to need Mr Stark to protect him, or take care of him. 

But every time it does--he realizes just how much he loves it. 

~*~ 

He’s sparring with Nat. They’ve been going at each other for the better part of half an hour,  and his muscles have a pleasant burn in them that he never gets. Mr. Bucky is leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking over them and shouting advice. 

Peter isn’t completely sure when they decided to take him under their wing, but he does know he isn’t getting as injured on patrol, so he doesn’t want to question it too much. 

He misses a block when the door opens and Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodey step into the gym. He grunts and Nat tsks. “Focus, spider-baby.” 

He nods, gasping, and twists, flips her down to the ground and swings up and away before she can drag him down with her. An arrow slices through his web, and he rolls as he hits the ground, his webs shooting almost blind as Nat rushes him. She’s laughing, low and throaty and he thinks that’s probably bad, but he hasn’t gotten hit by a Widow Bite, so it can’t be  _ too _ bad. 

It goes wrong in a rush--an exploding arrow from Clint makes him flinch as Nat wraps around him, brings her elbow down and Peter’s nose gives with a wet, painful  _ crunch. _

He can’t actually breath through the pain for a moment--he  _ always _ forgets how much it hurts, when he gets his nose broken. 

“ _ Peter,”  _ Mr. Star shouts and he blinks, dazed as the older man shoves into his space, his hands hot and huge and holding his face. He bats at them weakly, and Mr. Stark ignores him, tilts him carefully one way or the other. “You’re ok, you’re ok,” he murmurs, and Peter--Peter goes limp, all the fight draining away at those familiar words. 

“What the fuck, Romanoff?” Mr. Stark snarls. 

“‘s my fault,” Peter slurs, and he can almost  _ feel _ Mr. Stark’s attention snap back to him, and his fingers go impossibly gentle. 

“You need medical. And ice,” he says, soft, gentle. 

Mr. Stark is always so soft and gentle with him. Like he’s fragile and easily broken. 

He loves it, so much more than he should. 

“Come on, kid,” he murmurs, lifting Peter in his arms, and Peter thinks maybe he should be embarrassed, but he isn’t.

He isn’t. 

~*~ 

He isn’t weak. He doesn’t  _ need _ to be taken care of. He isn’t fragile and easily broken--he’s so strong he scares himself sometimes, and heals faster than even Cap and Mr Bucky. But sometimes. 

Sometimes he’s tired. 

Sometimes he wants to be weak and fragile and cared for. 

Sometimes--not often, not as often as he’d like, but sometimes--he slips into the Tower, after patrol, and waits for Mr. Stark to find him. 

He always does. He comes on quiet feet, with gentle eyes and soft hands, with warm clothes and food that makes him sleepy and the comforting weight of his body pressed next to Peter’s on the couch, and the gentle tug of his fingers in Peter’s hair. 

And the quiet promise, “You’re ok. You’re ok.” 

~*~

They don’t talk about it. 

Peter doesn’t ever ask about it--about why Mr. Stark protects and takes care of him. 

Mr. Stark never explains it. 

Peter thinks, maybe some things just don’t need to be explained. 

~*~ 

They’re leaving dinner one night--Mr. Stark has made it a weekly thing, picking him up after his last college class on Thursday and whisking him away to dinner and conversation before he returned Peter to his dorm--when one of the many reporters gets too close. They’re part of life, part of being in Mr. Stark’s life, something that makes Peter nervous but he’s mostly used to seeing pictures of himself near Mr. Stark and lurid headlines he only wished were true screaming at him in Delmar’s. He’s even used to Mr. Stark glibly brushing them off, the way his voice dips low and intimate and his lips almost brush Peter’s ear when he murmurs, “Ignore them. You don’t have to worry about them.” 

But this one--this one gets too close, shoves past the others and his camera clips Peter on the cheek. 

The reaction is instant, and shocking--he  _ feels _ it more than anything, feels Mr. Stark’s hands on him, tight and tugging,  _ moving  _ him, hears the familiar click of the gauntlet unfolding, feels the heat of Mr. Stark’s body and the whine of the repulsor, and he reacts, shoves Tony’s gauntlet up a split second before it goes off. 

For an endless heat beat, there’s silence, shocked and scared, and then--the gauntlet powers up again and Peter twists. Turns into Mr. Stark and holds him close, shaking. “Don’t fucking  _ touch _ him,” Mr. Stark snarls, and he can hear the gauntlet folding away, a second before Mr. Stark’s arm is wrapped around him and he is being gently tugged away. 

He doesn’t know who is shaking more, in the car, if it’s him or Mr. Stark, but he knows he believes him, when Mr. Stark thumbs the blood on his cheek away and whispers, “You’re ok. You’re ok.” 

~*~ 

He knows this--that Mr. Stark adores him. That he protects him, takes care of him. He knows that Mr. Stark is careful of him, careful to keep the blurry lines from slipping into something that could ever be called inappropriate, too aware of the age difference, of how  _ young _ he was when they first met. 

He knows this--Mr. Stark almost put a man in the hospital for making Peter bleed. 

He knows this--and he  _ knows _ what it means. But they don't talk about it. 

They never talk about it. 

And Peter thinks--maybe they should. 

Maybe they need to. 

~*~ 

Mr. Stark is hiding from him. 

He has been since that night, since his shaky hands held Peter too tight in the back of his car and his voice whispered raspy and reassuring against his hair, and terror and want sat heavy on Peter's tongue. 

He locked Peter out of the lap, shut down all lines of communication, and hid and Peter--Peter smiles. 

~*~ 

He's bleeding. There's a familiar starburst of pain in his shoulder---they almost always shoot the shoulder--and he thinks, that will do nicely. His smile is bright, almost joyous, as he finishes webbing up the bank robbers. He leaves before the cops can arrive, swings himself up to a nearby roof and stumbles to a stop there. 

And waits. 

It doesn't take long--his shoulder is still bleeding, the bullet he dug out discarded on the ground, and his fingers tremble just a little as he hears the familiar whine of repulsors and the suit streaks into sight. 

Mr. Stark stumbles out of it almost before it lands, his fingers frantic on him as he skims over Peter, checking him and Peter catches his hand, squeezes it with bloody fingers, and says, "I'm ok." 

Mr. Stark freezes, eyes flicking up to him, hesitant and scared, and it makes Peter ache. There is so much to say. So much between them to say. But he reaches up and his fingers are steady as they brush against Mr. Stark's cheek, and he leans into it, that soft, blood touched caress. "You need this, huh? Need to take care of me." 

Mr. Stark's face is pale and guilty and he looks a second away from bolting, and Peter smiles. Leans up and presses a kiss--gentle, chaste, perfect--to Mr. Stark's lips. "It's good--I need you to." 

"Peter," Mr. Stark-- _ Tony _ \--gasps, and Peter pulls him close, heedless of the blood on his shoulder as he draws the shaking man into his arms, runs gentle fingers through his hair.

"We're ok. We're ok." He promises, and Mr. Stark holds him desperately and Peter thinks it’s true. 

They’re ok. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](areiton.tumblr.com)


End file.
